


Blood Bag

by hannah_baker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Background Jamie/Tyler, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Past Connor/Dylan, Vampire AU, Vampire Jordie Benn, background Mitch/Matt Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: When Dylan Strome is traded to Montreal, he thinks that he's just going to be another blood bag for an NHL player. But in Montreal he finds more than that. More than what he had in Arizona. He finds Jordie Benn, a vampire he thinks he might actually be okay with biting him.





	Blood Bag

**Author's Note:**

> Another day, another fic no one asked for. 
> 
> I feel so so blessed that Lake Life (and Jordie/Dylan!!!) found an audience. I had a few requests for more, and while I don't think I'll be continuing that particular story, I do have...this one. I don't know, guys. Write the story you want to read, and all that. 
> 
> I will warn for vampire-style blood (it's not graphic) and mentions of Dylan being treated poorly by Jakob Chychrun. 
> 
> Also, it's pretty clear how interested I am in the actual hockey of this story. It's pretty handwavey. The vampirism is also pretty handwavey, now that you mention it...
> 
> This is inspired by a conversation with my dear friend Jillian, who observed that Dylan looks like he has a vampire boyfriend who doesn't take care of him. And also observed that Jakob Chychrun looks like a thousand-year-old vampire. I just wanted Dylan to have a nice vampire boyfriend, and we all know how I feel about Jordie Benn.

When Dylan Strome had been a teenager, he liked being a feeder. He liked that he got somewhat special treatment because his vampire was Connor McDavid. He liked how much Connor attributed his success to Dylan’s blood, liked that they could hold hands in public because Dylan was his. 

 

Dylan liked being taken care of. He liked when Connor had taken care of him. He liked hockey too, of course. He loved hockey. But nothing gave you preferential treatment in the draft, and when he went to Arizona, and Connor to Edmonton, he thought maybe his time as a feeder was over.

 

He couldn’t imagine anyone else’s teeth in his neck, couldn’t imagine wanting a connection like that with a vampire who wasn’t his best friend, his first love.

 

In Arizona, he’d tried to escape it. Tried to keep his head down and play his hockey. But it was abundantly obvious that he wasn’t going to get to do that. Management put him in a shitty situation one night after a rough game for the Roadrunners, and suddenly he was rooming with Jakob Chychurn, suddenly he had new teeth in his neck.

 

Arizona showed him how much he was worth to them. And Dylan thought every day about quitting. About moving to Alberta to be with Connor again. But there were so, so many reasons why that wasn’t going to happen, including the boy who was in Connor’s bed with him now.

 

It was a relief to be traded. He was terrified.

 

-

 

Jordie had never had a feeder before. In all of his time playing hockey, he’d always relied on blood bags or synthetic, and his coaches were all satisfied with that. He played well enough to be on the team, but not well enough to be a star. There was usually at least one other vampire on the team he was playing on who got the attention of management. In Dallas, that had obviously been Jamie.

 

Jamie had received problem child Tyler Seguin for some elite hockey blood. Jordie just got his blood delivered.

 

In Montreal, he was the only vampire on his team. He’d expected to continue his plan of bagged blood, but in November of his first full season with them, he heard from management that they were trading for a potential feeder for him. He didn’t even know what to say, but when Dylan Strome’s name came up, he agreed.

 

Arizona had been looking to unload Strome. Jordie didn’t get it. They had a vampire on the team, and Dylan was no slouch on the ice. Jordie watched videos of him in the A, and back when he was in the O. It was hard to google him without the name Connor McDavid coming up, or Jakob Chychrun.

 

Dylan was dropped off at the front doors of Jordie’s building, the windows of the building treated specially for vampires. The doorman buzzed Dylan up. Jordie liked living alone. It was hard to share space with someone who had never lived with a vampire before, but Jordie was hopeful for Dylan. Dylan had experience. Dylan made him glad he’d sprung for the two-bedroom condo instead of the one.

 

When he knocked on Jordie’s door, he had one suitcase he pulled behind him and a beat up backpack on his back, the bags under his eyes dark bruises. He looked skinny and feral, like a street dog. He had an unhealed bite mark on his neck that was _doing things_ to Jordie.

 

He looked like he’d been over-fed, too much blood sucked out of him. Jordie had never had a feeder, but Jamie talked about Tyler all the time. About how much food Tyler had to eat after Jamie fed on him, about how Tyler needed a lot of sleep to recover. Jamie was very, very careful with Tyler. It did not look like anyone had been careful with Dylan.

 

“Hey, come in,” Jordie said, instead of pointing out how rough Dylan looked. He took Dylan’s suitcase and closed the door behind him. Dylan looked so young and lost and sad in his front hall. “Welcome, I’m Jordie.”

 

Dylan nodded. “Dylan,” was all he said, looking around. There wasn’t a whole lot to look at. Jordie had a painting of him and his brother in victory green Dallas jerseys on the wall, a small but nice kitchen, a really huge sofa in the living room.

 

“Welcome to Montreal,” Jordie said again. Jordie didn’t feel socially awkward very often, but it wasn’t every day when the person a hockey team traded for you to hopefully feed on moves into your apartment. A person you’ve never met.

 

“Happy to be back in Canada, I guess,” Dyan said, shrugging. Jordie tried a smile, which wasn’t returned. Instead, he just led Dylan through the living room to the extra bedroom.

 

“This is you,” Jordie said. The room had a queen-sized bed in it, and he’d frantically gone out earlier in the day to buy a bunch of new sheets, and towels, and pillows, to try to help make it look more like home to Dylan, somewhere a person would actually want to stay, and not like, a storage closet. He’d even bought a couple phone charging docks for his side table, one Apple, and one Android since he wasn’t sure what kind of phone Dylan used. Dylan was still quiet.

 

“Your bathroom is through there,” he said, pointing to the door by the closet. “There are like, extra tooth brushes and stuff.”

 

Dylan finally looked at him, straight in the eye. “I think I just want to go to sleep. Long day,” he said, and Jordie nodded, leaving him to get settled. He heard the door click closed behind him the second he set foot outside of it.

 

Jordie couldn’t get the look on Dylan’s face out of his mind though. Like he was haunted. He tried to watch some TV but thought the sound might be bothering Dylan so he shut it off, and decided to go to bed himself. Or at least go to his room. But as he passed the kitchen to his bedroom, he stopped and impulsively made Dylan a sandwich, grabbed him a bottle of water.

 

When he knocked at Dylan’s door, his voice was rough answering. “Yeah?” he called through the door instead of opening it.

 

“I made you a sandwich,” Jordie said. “I’m just going to leave it right in front of the door, here,” he said. He went to set it on the floor, but the door finally opened. Dylan’s eyes were red. He had one hundred percent been crying.

 

“You made me a sandwich?” he asked, like it was a confusing statement. Like no one had ever made a sandwich for him before.

 

“I had some leftover avocado and some turkey, so,” Jordie shrugged. “I’m always hungry after a flight.” Really, Jordie was just an emotional eater. When he said ‘hungry after a flight,’ he meant ‘hungry after a long, difficult day.’

 

“That sounds really good,” Dylan said, his face brightening by just one single degree as he held his hands out for the plate and the water.

 

“I’ll drive us to practice tomorrow,” Jordie volunteered. “Make yourself at home, by the way. Dig through the kitchen, let me know what kind of food you eat and I’ll put it on my grocery order.”

 

“Thanks,” Dylan said. He made a move that looked like he was going to retreat back into his room before he remembered something. “Did you need to…” he pointed at himself vaguely in the neck area of things. He looked very much repulsed by the idea of it.

 

“Oh, no, um, I’m fine. I have, um, the bags, in the fridge,” Jordie said, stumbling over his words.

 

Relief passed over Dylan’s face. “Okay, cool. Thanks for the sandwich.”

 

And Jordie was dismissed.

  


-

 

Dylan wanted to call Connor. He had a text from him on his phone, just a Surprised Patrick gif, nothing too touchy-feely. He wanted to crawl into Connor’s rib cage and never leave. But he wasn’t Connor’s anymore.

 

He sat on the bed in his sad, empty bedroom in Jordie Benn’s condo and ate his sandwich, scrolling through Twitter on his phone.

 

The first time Jakob had fed on him, it had been after a rough away game, in a hotel room that would have been questionable even if he had gotten to just sleep and shower in it. Jakob was distant and a little rough, didn’t take the time to lick his bite marks closed the way that Connor always was careful to do.

 

Connor only fed from him on the road when he was sure that the room service budget was basically unlimited, which was an exception that gets made for you when you’re Connor McDavid. Jakob didn’t take care of him at all after biting him. Just got out of Dylan’s bed after Dylan said he wouldn’t fuck him after, and crawled into the other bed in the room, flicking the light off before Dylan had even plugged his phone charger in. He was too sleepy and drained to find it in his bag. His phone died before it could wake him up in the morning, and he was the one who was in trouble for being late to the bus.

 

Dylan didn’t know what to do, so he called Mitch.

 

“Fuck, dude what took you so long?” Mitch said as he answered. Dylan could hear Matt Martin in the background asking if Mitch needed anything from the kitchen, and he felt a stab of jealousy. He missed being in a relationship. Missed having a partner.

 

“Just got in, really,” Dylan said. Mitch really was waiting for his call. He’d left about 35 texts on his phone.

 

“And how is he? Gentle I hope.”

 

“Jesus he didn’t bite me on the way in the door.”

 

“You never know,” Mitch said. Dylan wondered if he’d sunk his own teeth into Matt that quickly. Maybe. Mitch wasn’t socially awkward about this shit like Dylan could be. Plus, it had seemed like he and Matt clicked instantly — and by ‘clicked,’ Dylan meant ‘fucked.’ Or maybe Mitch was just the right amount of slutty for that situation. “He’s cute though.”

 

“Who’s cute?” Dylan could hear Matt ask.

 

“Dylan’s Jordie,” Mitch clarifies. This was the worst part of being single. Calling to talk to one person, and talking to the couple instead.

 

“That apostrophe S on the end of my name there is questionable. I met him twenty minutes ago.”

 

“Still. You know why you’re there.”

 

“Thanks, dickbag.” Statements like that hurt. Especially because Dylan was feeling a bit soft and tender in that particular spot anyway. “I’m here to play hockey.”  


“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” Mitch said, sounding at least a little admonished. “But like, the Jordie situation is, well, a situation.”

 

“I fucking hate the NHL,” Dylan complained. He wished, not for the first time, that he didn’t have a reputation as a feeder. A reputation of still being good at hockey when someone was actively draining your blood. When he’d been with Connor, feeding made them both better. It seemed to do the opposite for him in Arizona. There was a lot missing for him in Arizona though.

 

Sometimes Dylan wished he was a vampire. He knew that it came with a lot more complications than being human did — sunlight, dependance on blood, and all that stuff. But if he was a vampire, at least he wouldn’t be a human blood bag for some half-decent D-man in Montreal.

 

“Yeah, buddy,” Mitch agreed. Mitch had a pretty good deal going. The second the Leafs signed him, they got someone for Mitch who was there not only for Mitch to bite, but also someone to protect him. Every vampire/human feeder connection was different based on many factors, but Mitch and Matt’s connection came with a very strong protective streak, on and off the ice. Matt had gotten in trouble for it a little, but everyone knew management was secretly pleased about it.

 

“I should go,” Dylan said, just to get off the phone. He wanted to unpack at least a little bit. Put his toothbrush in the bathroom.

 

“Hey, if he’s not good to you,” Mitch said, his voice very serious — Mitch’s voice was never serious. “Matt will come fuck him up, okay? We’re close now. It’s only five and a half hours.”

  
Dylan smiled — the first smile in Montreal. “Thanks,” he said, hanging up.

 

\--

 

In the morning, Jordie came out of his room to find Dylan already awake, a cup of coffee in his hand as he rummaged through the kitchen. As a vampire, Jordie ate regular food, but not a ton of it. He was a meal-a-day kind of guy, blood once-a-week. He admittedly didn’t have much breakfast food, but he’d bought eggs.

 

“Morning,” Jordie said from his bedroom door. He stretched, still in his pajamas. He’d brushed his teeth, but hadn’t done much else, and he watched as Dylan’s eyes raked over his body. He wasn’t sure if he was sizing him up for a fight, seeing how he was built for hockey, or...or the other thing.

 

“Hey,” Dylan responded, took another sip of coffee. Dylan was pajama-clad too, plaid pajama pants and an old Otters shirt with a 97 on the front shoulder.

 

“Can I make you some breakfast?” Jordie asked.

 

“Do you cook?” Dylan sounded surprised.

 

“Yeah, of course I cook.”

 

“Not many vampires I know cook.”

 

Jordie shrugged. “For a while, I cooked to take care of my little brother — the most useless vampire ever. When he got Tyler, I taught him how to cook to take care of him. Nothing fancy, but you’ll never go hungry here.”

  
Dylan bit his lip, thinking over those words, considering them. “That’d be nice. Breakfast I mean. I can make more coffee.” He pointed to the pot which was almost gone. He must already be on his second cup. Jordie wondered what his sleep habits were like. He watched as Dylan’s hand absently came up to his neck to touch the wound he had there, still unhealed. Chychrun must have bitten him as Dylan was walking out the door to the airport, which Jordie found several kinds of disgusting.

 

“The rest of the pot is fine for me,” Jordie said, pouring himself the half a cup left of the coffee. “You can sit down.”

 

Jordie directed Dylan over to the breakfast bar to sit and watch as Jordie made him a couple fried eggs and some turkey bacon. “You making a list of food you want to see here?” Jordie prompted, and Dylan nodded, typing a grocery list into his phone.

 

The kitchen was quiet for a long stretch, as Jordie finished up Dylan’s breakfast and plated it. He left Dylan alone to eat and dick around on his phone while he got ready for practice. They had some time before they had to leave, but Jordie hated feeling rushed.

 

When he came back out in the loose, casual clothes he’d wear over to the rink, Dylan was still at the island, plate washed and set in the dish drying rack, scrolling his phone, and fiddling with the bite on his neck still.

 

“This is going to be maybe a little forward,” Jordie said.

 

Dylan caught Jordie looking at his neck, and dropped his hand instantly. The relaxed look on his face disappeared, replaced with something a little more deer-in-headlights.

 

“I don’t want to bite you, I promise, I’m fine there. I just — it looks like that bite is bothering you. I could heal it up for you.” Jordie paused, but Dylan stayed quiet. “Um, unless you like to keep your bites. I know that some people are into that.”

 

“I’m not into that,” Dylan said.

 

“So you’ll let me heal it?”

 

Dylan took a breath, then nodded. “That would...be cool.”

 

Jordie reached over to touch a couple fingers to Dylan’s jaw, to tilt his head back to get a better look at the wound. Dylan flinched a bit, tensed up. It was like having a rabbit in a lion’s den. Dylan was just skittish. Jordie knew he needed to be extra careful with him.

 

“How do you want to do this? You have a preference?” Jordie asked, dropping his fingers. “It might take a little bit, since it isn’t fresh. Just want you to be comfortable.”

 

“Um, on the couch,” Dylan said, and Jordie nodded. He sat down on the couch, and Dylan surprised him by climbing into his lap, straddling him, hands bracing themselves on Jordie’s shoulders.

 

“You okay?” Jordie asked. Dylan was trembling a little. The 97 on his shoulder suggested that he hadn’t always been scared of this. Maybe it wasn’t a side-effect of Connor McDavid. Maybe it was a side effect of Arizona. Maybe it was that Jordie was a stranger to him. Maybe it was a lot of things.

 

“Fine,” Dylan said.

 

Jordie anchored one hand on Dylan’s waist and used the other to cup his jaw, guiding Dylan and his neck close enough to get his mouth on that wound. Dylan was heavy in his lap. Dylan was a hockey player, big and lanky but strong. 

 

Jordie had never healed another vampire’s bite before, but he knew it would work. Had seen it done before. Dylan let out a little gasp as Jordie’s mouth met his skin. Jordie had only ever bitten sexual partners, so he wasn’t 100% sure how to heal a bite without at least a little kissing action. He tried to keep his lips and tongue soft as the tip of his tongue traced the bite marks, spreading the saliva that would close up the puncture wounds.

 

It didn’t taste like his own bite, but it didn’t take long for him to fall into a rhythm. He tried not to be bothered by the flavor. He supposed it helped keep his mind on healing the bite rather than making a new one. He hadn’t even considered how much he’d want to bite Dylan when he’d offered to heal him up. How nice it was to have his mouth pressed so close to Dylan’s pulse point. Jordie did fine with bagged blood as far as his own nutrition went, but the experience of biting someone was really what he enjoyed, beyond the actual blood.

 

He felt Dylan’s body relax into him as he kept working. Usually it only took a couple minutes to heal up a fresh bite, but this one was stubborn, and Jordie wasn’t giving up.

 

It wasn’t like it was a hardship though. It also just felt good, made Jordie feel warm and buzzed. His saliva wasn’t always healing - it had to be triggered by the sight of a bite, and the extra enzymes present felt like a huge surge of Oxytocin. It was just bonding chemicals, rushing through his own system, entering Dylan’s through the puncture wounds. Jordie was pleased, but not shocked, when Dylan let out a breathy, soft, _Oh_ , and relaxed deeper into him for half a second, before snapping away from Jordie.

 

“Shit, that’s so embarrassing, I’m sorry,” Dylan said, automatically. His neck was shiny around his wound, but Jordie wasn’t quite done yet.

 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Jordie said, gentling him. Dylan was still in his lap, his hand still on Dylan’s hip. “That’s normal. It’s supposed to feel good. I’d be worried if it didn’t feel good.”

 

Jordie gave Dylan a few beats to breathe. Then he nodded, and relaxed a little, tipping his head to expose his neck to Jordie again.

 

“Sorry this is taking so long,” Jordie said, then got back to work.

 

It only took a few more minutes before Jordie was satisfied with how Dylan was healing, the puncture wounds nearly invisible. They’d disappear completely over the course of the day. He was more pleased with the breathy sounds Dylan stopped holding back as he worked on his neck, how hard he was breathing when Jordie finally pulled away from him. He brushed a thumb over Dylan’s neck where the bite had been, and Dylan shivered.

 

“That was...thank you,” Dylan said, his fingers trailing over his healed skin himself. He got out of Jordie’s lap slowly, legs a little weak.

 

Jordie didn’t think any of this through. About how he barely knew Dylan. About how strong vampire bonding chemicals can be, like the rush of Oxytocin after an orgasm. He felt irresponsible. It was good to have a breather.

 

“No problem,” Jordie said, getting up himself, and heading back into the kitchen. “Take your time to get ready. We’ll leave for practice in an hour,” he said and disappeared into his room to give Dylan some space.

 

\--

 

The first practice with the team went fine. Dylan fit into their third line, so he could learn their systems before hopefully making it to their top six. He talked to the coaching team after, and something about having a very straightforward conversation about hockey was soothing to him. The coaches knew his hockey, had a plan for how he’d fit in and belong in their lines. It was such a stark contrast to Arizona that he had his first feeling of hopefulness.

 

And he liked not having to walk into the locker room right off the bat with a bite mark on his neck. He wanted his teammates to look at him as a hockey player, and not as Jordie’s afternoon snack.

 

He spent his afternoon texting his brother Ryan about hockey in Montreal while he unpacked his room. He had a couple boxes that were on his way to him, but for now, all he could do was put his clothes in the dresser, and hang up his suits. He tucked his suitcase into the closet and took stock. It looked homier than a hotel room, but only by degrees. It would get there. The iPhone dock he had on his nightstand was a reminder of all the small kindnesses Jordie had afforded him since getting here. Jordie had been traded too. He knew it sucked, even if it had been a good move for him.

 

Less than a day in Jordie Benn’s apartment and Dylan was feeling a little more comfortable with him. Dylan wasn’t sure what Jordie would be like. Some vampires, like Jakob, refused to drink bagged blood unless absolutely necessary. Talking to Jordie about it, he’d been just as surprised about the trade as Dylan had. He hadn’t requested or required it.

 

Dylan could still feel a tingle on his neck that he’d always associated with the actual bite — or from Connor’s bites at least. Now it seemed like it was from the healing process.

 

Jordie knocked on his door again, when he was curled up in his bed, watching Netflix on his computer. He stood to answer it, and on the other side of the door was Jordie with a big screen TV, still in the box.

 

“Didn’t get a chance to get this delivered before you came,” he said, eyes kind, his smile easy and gentle. “Thought we could put it up together? I’ve got a chicken thing in the oven. There’s forty minutes on the timer. We could race it.”

 

“You didn’t have to get me a TV,” Dylan said, confused by Jordie’s kindness.

 

Jordie shrugged. “What were you just doing?” he nodded back at Dylan’s bed, where he could see the paused computer.

 

“Touché,” Dylan said, opening his door all the way so Jordie could slide the TV inside. Dylan’s dresser was straight across from the bed, and Jordie grabbed a power drill and a level and they got to work setting the TV up on a mount above it.

 

“Day two, how’s it going?” Jordie asked. Dylan liked having something to do with his hands while he talked, appreciated the project.

 

“Fine, I guess. It was good to get on the ice. Sounds like they actually want me on the ice, which is a change.”

 

“I’ve been watching your video. I really don’t understand what went on in Arizona.” He sounded sincere. Baffled.

 

Dylan shrugged. “Thanks man, I guess. I don’t know what happened. They just wanted a blood bag for the guy they actually wanted to develop, you know?”

 

“Were you worried that’s how this would go?” Jordie asked him, sinking another screw into the wall, as Dylan held the TV mount against the drywall.

 

“Um,” Dylan hesitated. “Yeah,” he said. “I was worried. I am worried. I don’t want elite hockey prospect blood bag to be the summary of my career, you know?”

 

“Listen, they put you up with me because they knew I had an extra room. I’m no hotshot. You’re not my blood bag. I think the stars aligned that they got a good player who also sometimes will allow for vampire bites, and that’s just how it worked out.”

 

Jordie paused, put down his drill on the dresser.

 

“You know, I don't ever have to bite you if you don’t want. That’s not a deal breaker for being in Montreal, or being in this condo. Being friends with me. I don’t expect to feed on anyone. That’s not how I survive, and that’s not what my hockey is based on.”

 

“Seriously?” Dylan asked.

 

“Yeah, seriously,” Jordie said.

 

Dylan felt himself let out an audible sigh of relief before he caught himself. “Shit, I’m sorry, that’s so rude. It’s just...I didn’t have the choice in Arizona. They didn’t ask me. I like having the choice.”

 

“You’ll always be able to decide. At least with me.” It sounded like a promise to Dylan. He held onto it.

 

Jordie clapped him on the shoulder, let his hand run up the back of Dylan’s neck to scratch up his hair a little. It felt good, familiar, kind. Dylan knew part of those feelings were from healing chemicals. But part of them were earned. Jordie’s gaze was fixed on him, relaxed but confident. He had a spray of freckles that covered his face, ran thick over the bridge of his nose, and Dylan was suddenly very interested in them.

 

“Thanks,” Dylan said again. “For everything.”

 

Jordie just smiled at him, and they finished hanging the TV.

  


\--

 

Dylan helped serve up the meal Jordie had cooked. Chicken breasts and vegetables. Jordie grabbed a water for Dylan and some blood for himself, and they sat at the coffee table to eat in front of the TV.

 

“You want the Oilers game on?” Jordie asked. “Am I gonna have to fight you for the Stars?”

 

“Why do you think I want the Oilers game on?”

 

Jordie shrugged. He wasn’t going to push Dylan. He wasn’t angling for a fight. Dylan had his guard up high. Jordie was starting to wrap his head around it. “I watch all of Jamie’s games. Thought you might do something similar for Ryan.”

 

“No, fuck, sorry, I’m just always on guard about Connor. I love the kid, but, I dunno. I don’t want him to be my career.”

 

Jordie laughed, chose the Oilers game. “Shit, I’m not sure you could find someone who understands more than I do. Being up here, I mean, of course Dallas was amazing. Getting to play with my brother for so long was something not many are lucky to get. But when I was on the same team as Jame, I was Jordie Benn. He was just Benn.”

 

“I was just Connor McDavid’s elite hockey feeder. Like, think about what Connor McDavid is able to do because his feeder was also good on the ice. Or the opposite. That our connection made me good, and that’s the only reason I got drafted so high.”

 

“I’ve seen people say that. That fucking sucks.”

 

“They don’t say that about Backstrom and Ovechkin,” Dylan complained.

 

“Or Seguin and Benn,” Jordie pointed out. “I don’t think that about you, for the record. I also hate the word ‘feeder.’ You’re a person.”

 

Dylan smiled at him. A real smile this time. It was a little dorky. Jordie just wanted his mouth back on Dylan’s neck, bite or no bite.

 

He settled for uncapping the blood he’d grabbed from the fridge.

 

“Sorry if this is gross,” Jordie warned. “I know some people don’t like to watch this.”

 

“I’ve watched plenty Capri Suns get sucked down,” Dylan said, shrugging.

 

“Capri Sun,” Jordie laughed, taking a sip. Jamie called them ‘juice boxes’ so he supposed that was close. On screen, Connor scored, and Jordie watched Dylan flich a bit, as Connor was zoomed in on, the celly between him and Draisaitl. “So Draisaitl,” Jordie started, and Dylan’s wince increased.

 

“I don’t really want to talk about Leon Draisaitl,” Dylan said. Jordie could tell he’d poked a bruise.

  
“I won’t bring him up.”

 

“We can watch the Stars game, actually,” Dylan said, even though Ryan’s line was hopping over the boards. “I don’t watch too many of Connor’s games anymore. It’s just the Connor and Leon show, and it’s. It’s a little too much.”

 

“Yeah,” Jordie agreed. The Stars game was in the second. Tyler had scored, and so had Klingberg, and sometimes Jordie ached to be back on the same ice with that team, the team that felt so much like _his._ He’d gone up through the ranks of their farm system, played there for years. In some respects, he’d never leave Dallas.

 

In others, though… He caught Dylan watching him out of the corner of his eye, Dylan’s gaze fixed on Jordie’s mouth.

 

“Connor always hated being dependant on that stuff,” Dylan said. Jordie noticed he liked talking about Connor in the past tense. Had trouble talking about him in the present.

 

“It’s not bad. It’s human. Donor blood. Much better than synthetic, though that works too. I’m not picky.”

 

“But you like it fresh better,” Dylan said, as though there wasn’t another choice. There was no way Jordie could disagree with that.

 

Jordie hesitated. “Yeah. I think everyone does. For the taste, obviously, but it’s also more than that. A bite is…”

 

“Special,” Dylan finished. Jordie wasn’t sure if Dylan noticed the way his head was cocked to the side, exposing the side of his neck opposite from his old bite. Jordie could taste the blood from his blood bag, feel it coating the inside of his mouth. Dylan’s eyes were such a sad deep brown, and Jordie remembered what his pulse felt like under the thin skin of his throat. Before he could stop it, his fangs dropped, surprising him as much as Dylan. Dylan shot back on the couch a bit, his immediate instinct to put a little space between them.

 

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Jordie said, hand over his mouth to cover his stupid fangs. They didn’t fall all that much past his regular teeth, but he knew they were threatening. “I usually have better control, I wasn’t thinking about it, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Just caught me off-guard,” Dylan said, settling back closer to Jordie on the couch. “It’s cool. I know it happens. Like getting a boner when you don’t want one.”

 

And fuck, now he was thinking about his teeth, and Dylan having a boner, and things were not getting better. He tried to think of what usually calmed him down. His dog, running around in his parents’ backyard, just being a happy pup. He breathed deep, felt his fangs slowly retract. He knew he was bright red. Being a redhead didn’t help at all when you were embarrassed, especially after sucking down an entire bag of blood.

 

“I hate when that happens,” Jordie said, feeling a little off his game. He didn’t want to even look at Dylan, didn’t want to think of him as looking any more delicious than Jordie already kind of did.

 

“I’m serious, it’s cool,” Dylan reassured him, his hand finding Jordie’s arm. He was warm. All humans were warm to vampires. Jordie’s baseline body temperature was less than four degrees different from a human, but it _felt_ so different, skin-to-skin. It was the first time Dylan had initiated contact with him, and Jordie buzzed with it, could feel the low hum of a connection between them.  


—

 

Over the next couple of weeks, Dylan started feeling more confident being a Hab. He liked being out on NHL ice. He liked when his teammates clapped him on the back after a game. After a week he had two assists, and he was feeling pretty good about it. He would have preferred a goal but he was feeling solid on the ice, solid in a Habs jersey.

 

They came back from a quick two-game road trip to New York late one night. Dylan was worn out. The NHL was a different kind of tired from when he was on the Roadrunners. He felt it bone deep, to his core. Jordie drove them back from the airport, and as much as Dylan wanted, more than anything else, to just fall into his bed the second they crossed the threshold to the condo, he could tell that the bad hit Jordie had taken in Brooklyn was still affecting him.

 

Jordie set his bag down and Dylan watched him try to stretch his shoulder out a little more. He’d gotten a massage after the game, but some issues just take time more than anything else.

 

“You bruising?” Dylan asked. He was getting more and more comfortable with Jordie. Jordie cooked for him every night. Told him about what had helped him when he was traded, both in general and to Montreal specifically.

 

He was older than Dylan, older than the guys Dylan was used to spending the majority of his time around, and Dylan liked it. Jordie’s face was strong and mature. He was just fucking manly, broad shoulders, big arms. And he was easy to make laugh, which Dylan found really gratifying. He never chirped Dylan’s jokes, never argued the premise or punchline. Just let the laughter come out of him. Dylan was just starting to really like him.

 

“Nah, I’m fine,” Jordie said, trying to brush it off. Dylan put a hand on his shoulder, gentle where Jordie’s pain was.

 

“Actually fine, or hockey player fine?” They both knew there was a difference.

 

“Hockey player fine,” Jordie admitted. The fact that Jordie told the truth surprised Dylan. Dylan lied to everyone, even Connor, about his injuries. He thought everyone did. “I’ll be fine, but the pain is there now.”

 

“Do you want to—“ Dylan asked, tilting his head to expose his neck and vaguely pointing at it.

 

Jordie took in a breath. Dylan could tell he wanted to. He was surprised to find himself offering, wanting to do it. He hadn’t wanted anyone to bite him since the Otters, but he knew Jordie would take care of him. He trusted Jordie.

 

And selfishly, he missed the way it felt. A bite was like sex. It could be so, so bad, or so, so good. There was a reason humans let vampires bite them. Dylan was craving a good bite, how it felt close to ecstasy.

 

“Wow, yes, I do,” Jordie said, reaching fingers out to Dylan’s bared neck. His fingertips were rough and calloused on Dylan’s soft skin. Dylan liked the way Jordie was looking at him. Gentle, like he should be protected. “But you’re asleep on your feet. You had a rough couple games too.”

 

“I’m okay,” Dylan argued, then yawned.

 

Jordie just raised an eyebrow at him, the fingers on his neck settling into Jordie’s whole hand, strong and steady. “I want to. Offer again when you’re feeling good enough to take the bite, and I will say yes. Falling asleep during is dangerous.”

 

“I know,” Dylan said, feeling admonished. He and Connor had had good habits, good rules. After Jakob, some of those things felt dimmer in his mind.

 

“Do you need anything? I am going to grab some blood from the fridge. Want a Gatorade?”

 

Dylan nodded, and Jordie retrieved their drinks. When he came back, he tipped Dylan’s chin up with his fingers and pressed a kiss to his neck, soft and sweet.

 

“Next time,” he said again, a promise.

 

—

 

Jordie had a plan. Even before Dylan had offered the bite, he was thinking of how he wanted to do it. There were things to consider, things to think through. He’d always imagined it happening at home, for example. Of course, it didn’t happen like that.

 

They were on the road in Minnesota, halfway through the third and up two-nothing when Chris Stewart dropped Dylan to the ice in one hit. Dylan wasn’t a small body on the ice. That took effort, and Jordie could feel his blood boil. Dylan was fine, skated back to the bench to end his shift. Stewart got two minutes.

 

But the second Stewart was back on the ice, Jordie was over the boards, gloves dropping instantly. Stewart was game. Jordie never remembered the fights he had much. Hadn’t had one in a while. But he could feel the blood dripping from his lip when he had to sit through his own penalty.

 

It was worth it.

 

Dylan was quiet in the locker room. Jordie had to give a media soundbite with his busted lip, fielded comments about protecting his rookie. Those comments he could take. No one asked him about “his feeder,” which was good, because he was still seeing Dylan hit the ice hard in his head. He was still worked up enough to make a scene if provoked.

 

Dylan stuck close to him on the bus back to their hotel. Jordie pressed his hand to the small of Dylan’s back in the elevator up to their room. Dylan was a rookie, so needed a roommate. As the feeder technically assigned to Jordie, he was placed in Jordie’s room.

 

When the door closed behind him, Dylan boxed him in in the little entryway, one hand carefully coming up to Jordie’s chest. With the other, he pulled his own tie down, undid the top button of his shirt, then the second.

 

“Bite me,” he said, his breath coming hard from nerves and anticipation. Dylan was just slightly taller than Jordie, and as he pressed Jordie against the door, his mouth lined up perfectly with Dylan’s neck.

 

Jordie nodded. He refused to bite Dylan like this, debauched in their suits, barely in their hotel room. He closed the distance to Dylan’s neck just to press a kiss to it. He could feel the split in his lower lip still, the pain almost inconsequential in the face of biting Dylan.

 

“Not like this,” Jordie said. “Let’s put our pajamas on, get comfortable.”

 

“Yeah. Okay.” Dylan paused. “But then…” he trailed off. Jordie could tell he was nervous. He knew Dylan’s experience being bitten was mixed. He knew he had to take extra good care of him.

 

“But then, yeah. We’ll do this together.”

 

Dylan eased away from him. Jordie was getting to see Dylan’s bold streaks in more situations. When playing video games, on the ice, when watching TV together. He wasn’t a timid guy, at least after he felt a little more comfortable. 

 

They changed. Jordie watched Dylan out of the corner of his eye as he put his own pajamas on, a t-shirt and boxers. Dylan’s pajamas were just soft sleep pants, his chest bare.

 

Jordie liked Dylan’s chest. Smooth and strong, but not bulky. Jordie knew how young Dylan still was. All he had was a list of reasons to take special, special care of Dylan.

 

“You usually like it the way I healed you, right?” Jordie asked. He had such a physical memory of that moment, the weight of Dylan in his lap. Dylan’s hands on his neck and shoulders. How hot his neck felt beneath his lips. Recreating that wasn’t really an option without a couch, though.

 

“Laying down is usually best for me, if beds are the only option,” Dylan said. Jordie nodded. He wanted Dylan to have as much control over the situation as possible.

 

Dylan climbed onto the bed furthest from the window, which Jordie usually claimed. All the hotels that NHL teams stayed at had sun protected windows, but Jordie just felt more comfortable closer to the interior of a building. It wasn’t like Dylan was climbing into Jordie’s bed, but functionally, he was climbing into Jordie’s bed.

 

Jordie could feel his gums tingle around his fangs. Dylan got settled in the middle of the bed, hair still a little damp from the post-game shower. Nothing on planet earth could have kept his fangs retracted in that moment. He parted his lips to give his teeth a little room. Dylan met his eyes, and his fangs dropped.

 

“Fuck,” Dylan said, hand trailing up his chest absently to touch his neck on the left side. Jordie didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful than Dylan in that moment, his eyes black with lust. “Please.”

 

Jordie climbed into the bed from the foot, settling into Dylan’s side. “This is where you want it?” He asked, dragging his nose up the left side of Dylan’s neck.

 

“Yes,” Dylan said, one of his big hands finding the back of Jordie’s neck, grounding them both.

 

“Did Connor used to numb you? You want that?” With his fangs dropped, his saliva could produce a numbing effect. It was the same enzyme that helped heal the bite afterward.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I want that.” Jordie had heard of some humans who didn’t like to be numbed first, but Jordie didn’t know any personally.

 

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Jordie said, and pressed his lips to Dylan’s neck. He licked lazy kisses up and down the side of Dylan’s neck, feeling him relax a little against him. Dylan kept his hand wrapped around the back of Jordie’s neck, the other finding Jordie’s hip. He had one leg slung over Dylan, and he would have been cozy if he wasn’t feeling a little hot and bothered, so worked up.

 

He kissed slowly, careful of his lip which ached a little absently until Dylan finally cleared his throat enough to signal that he was ready.

 

“I’m good now,” he said, and Jordie pulled back enough to look him in the eye.

 

“Okay, I’m going to go slow. Let me know if it feels any less than good.” Dylan just nodded his agreement.

 

Jordie learned in to kiss his neck one last time before opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into Dylan’s neck. He heard Dylan gasp, felt his hand grip the back of his neck as blood flooded his mouth.

 

There were a couple of philosophies when it came to biting humans. You could drink fast or slow. Fast got it over quickly, obviously. But it didn’t allow for your human to adjust to the blood loss comfortably. When you went slowly, you could create an experience. Since Jordie knew Dylan’s history a bit, he had no doubt he was expecting the slow approach.

 

Dylan’s blood felt hot in his mouth, washing over his tongue in drops. Everyone tasted different obviously, but Jordie was used to the flavor being muted by the refrigerated temperature he was used to. At body temperature, you could pick up on extra flavor notes. Dylan was unexpectedly a little sweet.

 

Dylan’s breathing was still coming hard. His body had tensed at the bite, but he was relaxing again. Jordie had forgotten just how good a bite could be. He could feel Dylan’s heartbeat in his fangs, feel him everywhere. Not even sex was this intimate.

 

A couple minutes in, Dylan’s harsh breaths started to change and soften into moans. Jordie wasn’t sure what being bitten felt like, but he knew what biting felt like. It was a thrumming, powerful connection. His brain couldn’t think of a single thing other than the boy below him.

 

Jordie had been so focused on Dylan’s neck, on Dylan’s fingers tangled in his hair, and his nails scratching up his back that he didn’t notice how hard he was getting until Dylan’s hips bucked up suddenly, his own erection seeking some friction.

 

Dylan gasped again at the contact, and Jordie moved his hand to Dylan’s waistband, a silent question that he was hoping Dylan would understand. Jordie hated removing his fangs before the bite was done. While they felt good and comfortable mid-bite, pushing them back into an open bite could hurt.

 

“Yeah. Yes, yes,” Dylan said, pushing his own sleep pants down, and guiding Jordie’s hand to his dick. Jordie still had to focus on the bite to make sure that he wasn’t taking too much blood at once, keeping it at a slow trickle into his mouth. Dylan didn’t need to be told though, content to fuck up slowly into Jordie’s tight grip, the hand on the back of his neck holding Jordie in place.

 

Jordie rolled his hips with Dylan’s, grinding into his thigh. It was overwhelming, the blood on his tongue, the sounds Dylan kept making, the orgasm that was slowly coiling in his belly.

 

Slowly, Jordie pulled his teeth out of Dylan’s neck, chasing the two small puncture wounds with his tongue, starting the healing process.

 

Biting was intimate enough on its own, but healing added those bonding chemicals. Jordie had never felt anything close to how good this part of the process felt. He could feel Dylan trembling as he thrust his hips, and now that he was done taking Dylan’s blood, he could focus more on this part.

 

He sped his hand up as his tongue lathed over Dylan’s neck. Dylan couldn’t stop making noises, groaning and moaning as his orgasm got closer, his hands gripping Jordie like he was about to be sucked into the vacuum of space.

 

Jordie’s healing turned back into regular, gentle kisses, and Dylan trembled, his orgasm spilling into his stomach.

 

“Fuck, Jordie,” Dylan gasped. Jordie pulled back just enough to see Dylan’s face again. The look on his face was unfathomable, and Dylan pulled him into a kiss, rough and desperate. Jordie got his hand down his boxers for the few quick jerks before he came, adding to the mess on Dylan’s stomach.

 

Dylan was still gripping him like it was the end of the world, kissing him deep and long, tongue carefully exploring Jordie’s fangs. Jordie had never been with someone who was actually comfortable with his fangs, and he was surprised at how that made his heart clench with want.

 

When they broke their kiss, they were both breathing hard. Jordie’s fangs slowly retracted, and he felt deeply sated for the first time in what felt like years.

 

“Are you okay?” He asked Dylan immediately. “Are you feeling okay?” He didn’t look pale or drained. He looked just as happy and sated as Jordie felt.

 

“I feel amazing,” Dylan said, a sleepy, dopey smile on his face.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Jordie said, not even thinking about it. They hadn’t talked about anything except for the bite, and it obviously escalated into something more.

 

Dylan just blushed, which was a beautiful sight to see after a bite, after taking any amount of blood. His fingers came up to trace the freckles on the bridge of Jordie’s nose. “You are too,” he said.

 

“We’re also gross,” Jordie said, pulling away to take his shirt off, which was already sticky. Dylan grabbed his arm.

 

“Stay,” he commanded.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, just cleaning us up a bit.” He used his t-shirt to clean up Dylan’s stomach. Then Dylan pulled him tight against him again. Both his hands found the back of Jordie’s neck, pulled him close enough to press the gentlest kisses to the split in his lip. It was feeling better anyway, the blood and the endorphins from the orgasm doing a lot for him.

 

“Shit, Jordie. When you fought for me. Jesus Christ.”

 

Jordie kissed him again. The sweet taste of blood was out of his mouth, and he could taste Dylan’s lips now. It felt like every single one of his senses was focused on Dylan only.

 

“You need to eat,” Jordie said. Dylan nodded. Jordie called in room service and convinced Dylan to take a shower with him while they waited. Dylan didn’t want to be out of arm’s reach of Jordie, post-bite clingy. It was normal, and it was amazing. It helped Jordie keep an eye on him, make sure he was strong enough to stand in the shower after losing blood.

 

Plus, the clinginess was mutual.

 

Dylan scarfed the two entrees Jordie ordered for him, and the chocolate cake. He sat on the edge of the bed over the room service cart, and insisted that Jordie sat pressed up behind him. Dylan was bright and chatty, which was such a stark reminder of how he’d been when he’d showed up on Jordie’s doorstep his first night in Montreal, almost silent, and so skittish.

 

It was late when they finally fell asleep, tangled together in Jordie’s bed. Jordie knew that part of what he was feeling was just the effects of the bite, the bond, and connection that can come with that. But Jordie had felt bite connections before, and this was more than that. This wasn’t just chemicals trying to make them stick together for long enough for Jordie to make sure Dylan was still alive after the bite. It was more than that.

 

\--

 

Dylan woke up pressed flush against Jordie, pulled in close, his back tight against Jordie’s chest. He felt incredible, like their few hours of sleep were a thousand. He was well-rested and content. He never wanted to get out of bed.  


He shifted just enough to wake Jordie up, whose arms immediately tightened around him, his lips finding the spot on Dylan’s neck he bit into the night before to drop wet kisses there. It had been so long since Dylan had fallen asleep next to a vampire that he forgot how good it felt. Jordie was just slightly cooler than him, and that helped regulate his body temperature through the night. He wasn’t at risk of waking up sweaty or drifting away in the night because it was too hot.

 

Dylan wasn’t used to being with an actual man. He’d never been with someone older than him. And while Connor’s body had been beautiful to him when they’d been together, he’d still been a teenager, with stringy, lithe strength, not yet bulky and muscular. Jordie was fucking thick with muscle, and his arms were covered in tattoos.

 

Dylan wouldn’t have declared that he was into tattoos before Jordie, but he’d caught a glimpse of Jordie’s arms around him in the mirror in the bathroom the night before and had gasped at how gorgeous they looked, especially wrapped around Dylan’s bare body. He was very, very pleased with where he found himself that morning.

 

“Morning,” Jordie grumbled into his neck, voice raspy from sleep.

  
Dylan flipped over in his arms, and Jordie ducked his head to keep working on Dylan’s neck a little, now that he had better access. Jordie’s beard was soft on Dylan’s chest, and he rolled onto his back just enough to pull Jordie with him, on top of him, heavy and solid.

 

It had been literal years since Dylan had felt that happy, comfortable, safe, and protected. His hockey was going well, the vampire in his bed was taking impeccable care of him. He wasn’t getting fucking sunburned in Arizona anymore. Things were finally looking up.

 

When they got home that afternoon, Dylan was still feeling clingy. They’d held hands on the plane, which was pretty typical for bite relationships, romantic or otherwise. They put their bags away, and Jordie started making lunch, while Dylan sat at the breakfast bar, where he usually found himself when Jordie cooked.  
  
It was sweet and domestic to spend their free time together, and when they went to bed that night, there was no question that Dylan followed Jordie into his bedroom, curled up with him in his bed.

  
  


The next night was a home game against the Canes, and Dylan felt twice as alive as normal stepping out on the ice. The music pumped for warm ups, and Dylan felt like he knew where Jordie was on the ice every single second.

  
It only took until half way through the first period when Dylan got his first chance. He felt like he was seeing everything happen on the ice a split second before it did, and when the puck hit his tape, he knew to go high glove, the puck hitting the back of the net.

 

When he got back to the bench after his goal, he shoved his teammates over to sit next to Jordie, who preened over him, slung an arm around his shoulder, and didn’t stop chattering in his ear about how proud he was until it was Jordie’s turn to head over the boards.

 

His first Habs goal. It felt good.

 

Jordie himself got an assist and blocked some good chances. He put up strong minutes. They both had good games.

 

In the post-game interview that Dylan gave about his first goal for the Canadiens, he held Jordie’s hand off to the side. Their stalls were next to each other, which was very convenient, and very much by design. Per the agreement with the NHL and the media, reporters weren’t allowed to ask them about whether Jordie was biting Dylan explicitly, but many had ways to get at the question from the side.

 

“You and Jordie both had good nights,” one woman asked, looking pointedly at their hands, clasped together.

 

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “It’s fun when that happens for sure.” Everyone knew what was going on here without Dylan having to confirm it, so he wasn’t going to.

 

He had messages on his phone when he finally checked it after getting home. It was late, but Edmonton was two hours behind them, and Dylan called Connor back, after the handful of calls he’d missed.

 

“I saw your post-game,” Connor said. “Congrats on that goal, man.” Dylan knew that Connor had a three-point night the night before. He always had to keep in mind that even if it felt condescending, Connor never meant it that way. Dylan just focused on how nice it was to hear from him. They used to talk every day. Several times a day. There was something about Connor’s voice that would always be comforting to him.

 

“Thanks. Finding my stride here I think.”

 

“Yeah, it seems that way. Benn taking care of you?” Dylan knew that was why Connor called. Connor wasn’t possessive of Dylan, but they were still friends, even if they weren’t as close as they’d been as teens. Distance did that. Time as well.

 

“Jordie is incredible,” Dylan said. “I don’t know what else to say about it.”

 

“Good,” Connor said. “I saw you holding hands in your post game. That’s...a statement.” Connor and Leon were notably all over each other, almost constantly. It was hard to even see Connor in his own clothes when giving media interviews, a 29 hovering over his heart most of the time instead.

 

“You of all people know how it is,” Dylan said. When they were together, Connor wasn’t a stranger to kissing Dylan right in the middle of their interviews, the love on his face when he pointed his gaze at Dylan blinding and consuming. Special in how teenaged they were. They didn’t really have to be all that professional yet. No one expected it of them.

 

“Then it’s good,” Connor said, confirming.

 

“It’s good, Con. You don’t have to micromanage it. I’m happy here. You know how things were with Jakob—”

 

“I fucking hate that guy,” Connor growled.

 

“And don’t we all. But Jordie is the opposite.”

 

“I hope so,” Connor said. Dylan could hear his sincerity.

 

“I appreciate it,” Dylan said. “Now get out of here, go bite your boy or something,” he joked.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Keep posting those points.”

 

Dylan wandered back into the living room, and curled against Jordie’s side on the couch. He and Jordie had gone out with some of the guys after the game but didn’t stay long. Honestly, Dylan just wanted Jordie to himself. “It was Connor,” Dylan volunteered. He knew he didn’t have to tell Jordie, but he wanted to.

 

“Trying to stake his claim?”

 

“Naw, Con isn’t a dick. He saw us holding hands. Wanted to make sure that you were being good to me.”

 

“What did you tell him?”

 

Dylan rolled his eyes, even though Jordie couldn’t see him. “I said you’re okay.”

 

Jordie laughed, even though it was a little at his expense. Dylan loved that, that Jordie wasn’t concerned about anything other than whether Dylan had said something even mildly funny.

 

“You’re getting a little scruffy here,” Jordie said, fingers touching Dylan’s chin where some stubble was coming in. He wasn’t purposefully growing anything, just had a few lazy days of not thinking about shaving.

 

“It’s not like I think I can catch up to you.”

 

“You could never,” Jordie said, and he was probably right. But his face was so close to Dylan’s, lips parted. His split lip was working on healing, and all Dylan could do was lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

 

They hadn’t kissed since the night of the bite, but not because Dylan didn’t want to. He didn’t know what they were doing. With Connor, they had been romantic before they had ever talked about biting. They’d been kids though. It was different.

 

Jordie kissed him back, slow at first. Dylan broke away for just long enough to slide onto Jordie’s lap. He liked feeling Jordie’s hands on his hips, while his own hands held the sides of Jordie’s face.

 

“I’m really into you,” Jordie said. He wasn’t playing any games or beating around the bush.

 

Dylan just smiled, leaned in to kiss him again.

 

\--

 

Their hockey got better and Jordie watched Dylan get moved up to the second line, although on wing.

 

Jordie hadn’t lived with anyone since he’d lived with his brother, and living with Dylan was much, much better than living with Jamie Benn. Dylan was still a twenty-one year old with bad habits, but Jordie watched him try to contribute, try to unload the dishwasher when he remembered, sort his laundry. Jordie had a cleaning service once a week that protected both of them from having to become real adults and clean the toilets.

 

Things were just happy for a few weeks until his phone buzzed with a text from Tyler, an article that Tyler captioned with some angry face emojis. _Benn finally playing as expected when tapping into rookie blood bag_.

 

Jordie clicked on the article, even though he knew what it was going to say. That Jordie was only playing well because of the blood he was sucking. That Dylan was only scoring because of the bond to Jordie, the boost a bite can give you. On top of being incredibly offensive, it was written poorly, the writer referencing Dylan’s time with the Otters, but never talking about how bad things were for him in Arizona. He talked about Jordie’s play since Dylan was traded to the Habs, but didn’t take into account that he wasn’t playing outside of an expected range for him.

 

It was just sensationalizing, which Jordie found annoying. He knew it would be hurtful to Dylan though. Dylan, who just wanted people to look at him like a hockey player, and not someone’s meal.

 

If you’re not a vampire and you’ve never been bitten, the bite is hard to understand. It was helpful to grow up with Jamie who always knew what he was going through. The media had no idea what the bite was like, and it was frustrating to read about what they thought it might mean.

 

“What are you reading so intently?” Dylan asked, taking up his normal spot on the couch next to Jordie, who had some NHL network bullshit on in the background, mostly just for noise.

 

“Some stupid article,” Jordie said. He wasn't going to keep secrets from Dylan. There was no point in trying to protect him from this. He’d see it.

 

“That one about how we’re awful, and the only reason we’re playing well is because of the bite?” Dylan said, so casually.

 

“Yeah,” Jordie said. “You read that?”

 

“No, Connor just texted me, sent me his own summary. I'm not going to read it.”

 

Jordie wasn’t jealous of what Dylan and Connor had had when they were teenagers. But he was a little jealous of how close they still were, despite Dylan’s insistence that they weren’t that tight anymore. Going from being someone’s other half to someone you text once a week probably felt like “not that close” anymore to Dylan, but the number of times Connor’s name was said in their household seemed not to support that. At the same time, Jordie was grateful that Dylan had a support system.

 

“You’re okay with it?” Jordie asked.

 

“I mean, not really. But it’s an eventuality. At least the team isn’t saying shit like that. What I struggled with most in Arizona was that no one was concerned about me as a person, on or off the ice. Here, I have the opposite.”

 

Jordie just tucked his smile into Dylan’s neck, the warm rush of happiness washing over him like the tide coming in.

 

\---

  


Dylan didn't find out about Ryan’s injury until after the third period of their own game, a drop to the Panthers at home.

 

The Oilers were on the road in Pittsburgh and Ryan caught a stray puck to the face and was rushed to the hospital. Dylan had a wave of text messages and missed calls from everyone, mostly from his brother Matt.

 

He shook on the way home, letting Jordie drive so he could talk on the phone with his mom. Realistically, he knew Ryan would most likely be fine, but a puck to the face was scary nonetheless.

 

It was late already. They always got home late after games, and Dylan let Jordie heard him to bed, let him grab waters from the fridge for them, and helped him change into pajamas distractedly as he spent his focus texting with Matt.

 

Jordie flicked on Seinfeld reruns while Dylan set his dying phone into the charging dock for a minute.

 

“I don’t actually think he’s like, in any kind of danger,” Dylan said, letting Jordie pull him close, pet through the hair that was getting long, and a little whispy over his ears. “It’s just. I don’t know. It’s scary. I just want to know.”

 

“I get that,” Jordie said, and Dylan knew he did. He uniquely knew exactly how it felt not only to put yourself in the kind of danger the NHL could occasionally provide, but also to have someone you love out on the ice too. Your brother. Dylan loved this part of being with Jordie. He never had to explain himself or how he felt in so many situations. “You’ll hear soon,” he promised. Dylan knew he was right, but couldn’t help the impatience he felt.

 

They got through most of their episode of Seinfeld, _The Marble Rye_ , before Dylan’s phone buzzed again.

  
“Shit,” Dylan said, jumping at the sound of his phone buzzing in the dock. He had a flurry of texts, starting with a short update from Ryan, bruised face selfie and everything. He had a line of stitches up his cheek, but while he was pretty bruised, nothing was shattered. Dylan was most worried about the mild concussion he got, likely from dropping to the ice like a dead weight after being hit by the puck.

 

“What’s it looking like?” Jordie asked, rubbing his back between his shoulder blades. It was just nice to have Jordie there by his side when he was freaking out. He thought about what this would be like if he lived alone, or with a roommate who was just...a roommate. He couldn’t imagine how much harder it would be.

 

“He’s going to be fine. Stitches. A little concussion. Shouldn’t be out more than a few games,” Dylan recapped, showing Jordie the photo.

 

“Stitches are manly,” Jordie said, and Dylan rolled his eyes. Jordie kissed up behind his ear and Dylan set his phone down. “You can say no to this, obviously, but I thought you might. I thought you might want a bite. You know. Take your mind off of it a bit.”

 

Jordie had never offered him a bite before. Dylan knew that there was this misconception that only vampires benefited from biting, but being bitten, under the right circumstances, was one of Dylan’s favorite things. He loved that Jordie could sense that it might be a good option for him.

 

“Yeah,” Dylan said, not even having to think about it. “I want it.”

 

 

Jordie leaned him back against the pillows. When Dylan had been with Connor, he’d liked sitting in his lap. The bite had had more levity back then when they’d been kids, and even emotionally heavy things like bites and sex had a bit of playfulness to them.

 

Dylan had a past now, and that colored his life differently. He liked being in Jordie’s bed for this, liked Jordie looming over him, and the press of Jordie’s lips on his own. Being bitten by Connor made him feel connected, but being bitten by Jordie made him feel whole.

 

Before they got to the bite, Jordie spent a not-insignificant amount of time with Dylan’s lips. In the previous few days, they’d begun kissing much more. It felt near-constant to Dylan, inevitable that whatever he was currently doing (unless it was hockey) would be soon interrupted for anything between a peck on the cheek to Jordie wrestling him down onto the couch to ravage him for a bit.

 

Dylan’s thoughts were consumed with Jordie, the hum of their connection thrumming in his chest, almost like whatever bonding chemicals that were rushing through his bloodstream from the last time Jordie bit him could tell that they were close to each other, close to a bite. Mostly, what he was thinking about was how safe he felt in this bed, under this man, in this condo in Montreal. It was something he would never have been able to predict.

 

Jordie had moved on to numbing his neck, which felt tingly and cold, without actually being cold, temperature-wise.

 

“I’m almost ready,” Dylan said, nudging Jordie away from his neck.

 

“But?” Jordie asked. His hair was falling down into his face in strands, and Dylan pushed it back into place just to watch it fall again. He liked the flush on Jordie’s skin whenever they did anything, really, and how dark that made his eyes look on top of everything else. His lips were red, making the points of his fangs stand out.

 

“Just wanted to see these guys,” Dylan said, running a careful finger down the side of one of Jordie’s teeth. Dylan thought his fangs were unbearably hot, but he also liked the way Jordie’s blush deepened at the attention. He pulled him into one more kiss. “Okay,” Dylan said, moving Jordie back to his spot at Dylan’s neck with a hand that would stay on the back of Jordie’s head until they were done.

 

Dylan felt the bite not as a puncture, but more as a clamping, which wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. There was no sharp pain. He could feel the wetness of his blood as it entered Jordie’s mouth. Dylan found that with sex, the gross part was at the end, after orgasm when you realize that you have bodily fluids all over you. With a bite, the gross part was upfront. He liked that you could get that over with, and not save it for last.

 

He focused on combing through Jordie’s hair, now very short on the sides which Dylan liked a lot, and the weight of Jordie’s body on his own, like an anchor. The hand on Jordie’s neck stayed put, but with his other, he explored Jordie’s arm muscles, his shoulders, his back. Jordie had such defined muscles, which Dylan knew he worked hard at. Part of that muscle definition was getting enough blood, part was his diet, and part was a really intense workout plan, because it was harder for vampires to maintain muscle mass than it was for humans.

 

A few minutes in, Dylan could feel something shift in him. It was always hard for him to differentiate this feeling from the slow build of an orgasm, which is why he had a hard time separating a bite from sex. He’d thought when Jordie had bitten him for the first time that Jordie would think he was slutty. But they were both the same, both had a bite drive that was linked to their sex drive.

 

Dylan just felt good all over, felt an urge to make sure that Jordie stayed put and kept drinking from him for a long time. Slowly, in concert with the warm, happy feeling the bite gave him on his own, he could feel his body react to the thoughts in his head. It was hard to imagine Jordie’s mouth doing anything but biting him, but suddenly he was imagining how nice it would be to have Jordie’s mouth on his dick, to see what Jordie looked like between his legs. His erection arrived slowly, and like the time before it, he politely requested Jordie pay a small amount of attention to it.

 

Jordie’s hands were amazing, rough and calloused from playing hockey his entire life, strong and careful as they helped Dylan push his pajamas down once more. The handjob was lazy and distracted, but Dylan wasn’t really chasing an orgasm, not until he felt Jordie’s teeth pull out.

 

That was the only part that came close to hurting, feeling Jordie’s teeth retreat from the soft flesh of his neck, and even then, he wasn’t sure if the pain was physical or emotional, but it was always chased with the soft licks of healing the bite, which was fucking euphoric.

 

It wasn’t one burst of pleasure like an orgasm, but more like the feeling when you hugged someone you loved, except on crack. Vampire bonding chemicals made him feel like nothing other than Jordie mattered, that no matter what happened to him, Jordie would be there to fix it. Dylan’s brain knew that it wasn’t necessarily love, at least not yet. But the entire rest of his body wasn’t so clear on the distinction.

 

They were just lazily grinding into each other when Jordie came up for breath, his fangs slowly slipping back into his gums. His grip on Dylan’s dick got surer as he asked Dylan how he was doing.

  
Dylan always felt a little sleepy after the bite, because of how relaxing it was. “‘m good,” he slurred, shifting his hips up a little to meet Jordie’s hand. He felt blissed out and so relaxed he wasn’t even really concerned about his orgasm, just the weight of Jordie on top of him, the feel of his hand on his dick, the tickle of his beard on his chest as Jordie kissed his neck.

 

Jordie started to pull away a bit, and Dylan couldn’t help but reach out, keeping him from going anywhere. “No,” was all his mind could come up with, the idea of Jordie going anywhere physically painful.

 

“I was thinking maybe you’d want my mouth,” Jordie said. Dylan couldn’t even really focus on the offer. Of course he wanted Jordie to suck him off. That wasn’t even a question. But it would have to wait for another time.

 

“Please just stay here with me, like this,” Dylan said. Jordie just nodded, leaning back down to kiss Dylan.

 

The first time Jordie had bitten him, his orgasm had felt explosive, fast, incredible. But it had also been the first time Jordie had ever had his hand down Dylan’s pants, or his teeth in Dylan’s neck. This time, they took their time, lazily grinding against each other.

 

Jordie came first, gasping hot into Dylan’s neck, his regular human teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. The reminder of the bite triggered Dylan, adding to the mess across their stomachs. It was gross, and usually Dylan would want to get cleaned up pretty quickly, even after a bite.

 

But he felt raw and anxious that night, and a spark of worry for his brother shot through him. He clung even harder to Jordie.

 

“You wanna check in?” Jordie asked him, already reaching for Dylan’s phone on his dock, dragging Dylan with him a few inches to reach it. Dylan refused to feel shame about it.

 

Jordie gave the phone to Dylan, and curled around his back so he could focus on his phone. He had a text from Ryan, to him directly, outside of their whole family text.

 

_I know you will understand better than mom and dad. I’m fine. I’ve got the NHL taking care of me. You know what that’s like. Connor has been pestering me to update you. No need to worry._

 

Dylan texted back quick. _Fine is your only option. Get better._

 

“Doing okay?” Jordie asked.

  
“Something like it,” Dylan said. He knew the realities of playing in the NHL. He shifted around in Jordie’s arms to face him again. Jordie had such a kind face. Dylan couldn’t really pinpoint what exactly that meant. He always looked at least a little happy, his eyes soft. Or maybe he just associated Jordie’s face with kindness, because that’s what he always was. “Thank you,” he told Jordie, as Jordie pulled him in tight, the messiness of themselves and the sheets not on either of their minds.

 

“For what?” Jordie said, rolling his eyes affectionately at Dylan. Jordie had this deep humble streak, never wanting to take credit for what he was responsible for.

 

“For everything, here in Montreal. For buying me sheets for your guest bedroom, and healing my awful bite, cooking for me, fighting for me, biting me. Everything.”

 

Jordie’s blush was back, pretty and deep. It spread down his chest, even to the tops of his shoulders a bit. Basically highlighting everything Dylan was obsessed with about him, except his fangs and his dick. “You looked like you needed someone to take care of you.”

 

Dylan couldn’t argue with that. By that point, it was becoming pretty clear to him that surviving on his own was...difficult. But maybe that was fine. Maybe it was okay to have someone who wants to look after you. Someone you can look after in return.

 

“You make this place feel like home for me,” Jordie said. “Since we’re saying mushy things. It was just an apartment, just a city, just a hockey team before you. And now…”

 

He trailed off, but Dylan let him. Dylan hadn’t felt like anywhere was home since Erie, since Toronto. “Maybe I feel the same way,” Dylan said. “Maybe home is you.”

 

Jordie blushed again, and all Dylan could do was kiss him, and kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thewestishharpooners on tumblr where I am for totes taking prompts for this pairing/looking for inspiration. what do you want to see? lemme know! )


End file.
